Adventures in Camelot
by j1ack
Summary: Arthur and Gwen despise each other, but they are due to be married in five years, so they concoct a plan to have some fun.  Slightly AU and OOC.  Please R&R.
1. Prolouge

One, two, three, block, five, six. Start over. One, two, three, block, five, six. A drop of sweat rolled down his back as he attacked, parried, and dodged an invisible opponent. He had done this so many times that he could do it with his eyes closed, although not with his hands tied behind his back. Hands were kind of necessary for swordplay.

He had, as far as he knew, been born with a sword in his hand. Although some might have called him a natural when he was younger or brushed it off as beginners luck, there was no doubt that now he had earned his way up to the top of the totem pole as far as swordplay went. As far as his opinion on the matter, he loved swordplay. It was something to do to pass the time between the tedious parties and dinners that were held almost every other day. When he was practicing he could just let go of all of the tiresome events of the recent days and concentrate on the only two things in the world, him and the blade.

After the sun had moved two-thirds of its way across the sky, he finally laid the sword down on a nearby wooden table. It made a clattering sound as its jeweled handle hit the wood. He pulled on the light grey tunic that he had taken off to practice. It stuck to his sweating chest as honey sticks to fingers. He picked up his blade again, and with one final glance at it, sheathed it in its matching sheath. He left the empty practice field to go to his chambers.

* * *

><p>One, two, three, switch, five six. Start over. One, two, three, switch, five, six. Embroidery had become a favorite pastime of the young ladies of the palace recently. Of course, they could always get the servants to do this sort of thing for them, but something needed to be done to pass the time between the balls, dinners, and parties that were held on a regular basis. The activity also gave an excuse for the ladies to gather in a good sized group with none of the men around and talk about the latest goings on in the palace.<p>

All except for one were huddled around in the circle gossiping about the Court's newest arrival, Sir Cedric. Most of the ladies in the room weren't interested in creating a beautiful work of art but simply getting time to talk with each other without the men. She had realized this the moment she came to this palace about five months ago. Seeing this, she had never talked with any of the other ladies in the court, but found that she loved not only embroidery, but also sewing, stitching, and knitting. In these activities, she found a sense of peace that she found no where else; she could block out everything that had happened that day, and it was just her and her creations. She wasn't bad at all of this either, and she didn't need to sell her craft for any money, for her future was already secure.

The afternoon sunlight shined on her newly created kittens that were playing with a bright red ball of yarn. She gathered her things, put them in her dark purple bag, and left the room with the rest of the ladies staring at her. She needed to go to her chambers to prepare for the ball that night.

"She is so beautiful," said one, "and I don't understand why she's so unhappy here. I think if anyone of us was in her situation, we wouldn't be able to keep our head attached!"

All of the ladies fervently agreed and continued their gossiping.

* * *

><p>He rounded a corner trying not to think about tonight. It was one of those social dances where anyone who had meant anything to his father in the past was invited, and there was a lot of preparation to be done. If anyone of any importance had found him practicing, he would have surely been shooed away to be re-measured for some garment or asked his opinion with the decorations. He could honestly care less about what Lady This or Sir That had to say about anything.<p>

She rounded a different corner and was trying not to think about tonight. She had to get back to her chambers to try on the new dress that was custom made. Fine clothing did not impress her. She thought that it made anyone who wore it look like a selfish snob, but according to tradition, she had to wear it because of her station, although no one had ever asked her if she wanted to be thrown into the situation in which she was currently.

They both rounded the same corner at the same time and ran right into each other.

After the spluttered, "I'm so sorry," and, "It's quite alright," they both stood rather awkwardly in the archway.

"So I guess it's another night of pretending to like each other," the girl said after a few moments.

"I guess you're right," he said, "I had better get going."

"I should too."

The girl walked away thinking about Prince Arthur. She could hardly believe that she would have to marry that selfish and arrogant boy in only five short years.

The boy walked away thinking about the Lady Gwenyvere. He could hardly believe that he would have to marry that vain and narcissistic girl in only five short years.


	2. The Ball

The Lady Gwenyvere was preparing for the ball this evening. Any other lady would have murded the king to get to be able to wear her dress for just one night, but Gwen didn't much care for it. It was floor-length, although not so long that you were constantly having to pull it up for fear of tripping over it, and it was a midnight blue that was so vibrant that it looked like the seemstress had gone out at night to cut a piece of the sky just to make a dress. The skirt had a layer of something see through that sparkled and glittered like stars on top of the midnight blue. It was matched with a pair of silver heels and elbow length midnight blue gloves that matched the dress. As her curly hair was being piled on top of her head, she looked at herself with disdain. She looked like a foreign noble who had people to impress. Gwen knew that she didn't need to impress anyone because of her position as the Crown Prince's betrothed, but apparently apperances needed to be maintained.

A knock sounded at the door. The seamstress, who was busily making last-minute changes to the dress, said somewhat angrily to her assistant, "Go make that lost servant go away. I need peace and quiet to work."

The servant went to the door, opened it, and went out. In a few minutes she was back. "Madame that was no lost servant. In fact he was a servant who knew exactly where he was going. He carried a message from the steward. The Lady Gwenyvere is to meet the steward outside of Prince Arthur's chambers in five minutes."

* * *

><p>Arthur was also preparing for the ball, although he didn't pay as much attention to what he was wearing because he was at mental war with himself. He was trying so hard not to think about tonight, but Arthur soon learned that when you try very hard not to think about something, it always seemed to creep up and encroach upon your thoughts when you let your guard down. Arthur was trying so hard not to think about tonight because of Gwen. That vain and stuck-up girl who he was going to have to marry in five years. He could, of course, plan the marriage for any date before then, but why would he want to? He didn't much like her, and she didn't much like him, although Arthur couldn't see why. He tried to think of other things, but his mind kept coming back to the three or four hours he would have to spend with Gwen, and they had to chat and laugh as though they actually could stand one another's presence. He would probably consume a glass too many of whatever wine or mead was offered after an hour or two, but Gwen did not have the luxury of getting drunk because she was a lady. She would then half-drag, half-carry Arthur back to his chambers. This was just to keep the servants' thinking that they liked each other a <em>lot<em>, because Gwen had discovered a secret passageway that was hidden underneath a loose floorboard. This passageway lead to a hallway very close to her chambers, where her trusted servants would be waiting to escort her back to her own chambers.

His train of thought was interrupted by a knock at the door. He shooed his servant away and went to get the door himself. He opened the door and was shocked to see Gwen standing next to the steward, Edgar Wolfe.

Edgar Wolfe was a childhood friend of Arthur's father and current reigning king, King Uther. He always walked around in full armor with his sword and several daggers, even when there was no reason to do so. He kept his greying beard neatly trimmed, along with what little hair was left on his head. Perhaps he had been handsome once, but old age had not been favorable to his features.

When Igraine, Arthur's mother, died in childbirth giving birth to Arthur, Uther was given no choice but to appoint a steward. It was the steward's duty to take over as king if King Uther were to be physically or mentally incapacitaed, or if the king were to die when Arthur was still too young to take his place as ruler of Camelot. Uther had lost his mental health over ten years ago, when Arthur was only six. The steward had taken over then and ruled Camelot as fairly and as justly as Uther had, but Arthur always got a bad vibe from the steward.

"May I speak with you for a moment with the Lady Gwenyvere?" he asked.

"Sure," Arthur said as he stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind him. "What seems to be the matter?"

"Yes," Gwen said, "why have you called us here?"

"It's the two of you who are the matter."

Arthur and Gwen looked bewildered. "What could we possibly have been doing?" Gwen questioned.

"It's what you haven't been doing that's worrying me and the rest of the council, not to mention the rest of Camelot." Both Arthur and Gwen looked down at the ground as if they were school children caught for misbeahaving behind the teacher's back, and the steward stared them down as if he were the teacher scolding them. "When your father," he said looking at Gwen, "saved Uther's life on the battlefield, Uther said that he could have any one thing that he wanted. Your father could have said wealth, or power, or simply a horse to plow his field, but he asked for something completely unselfish. He said that it was his wish for his only daughter to become a lady and live in the palace. He wanted you to grow up and marry the Crown Prince of Camelot, not just some random uneducated farmer who lived down the street.

"And you, Arthur!" Arthur continued to stare at the one little spot on his boot that his servant had forgotten to polish. "You could at least _try_ to win the heart of the lady whom you must marry; if not to be chivalrous and make it less awkward for her, at least do it for yourself! She is the woman who will reign by your side and bear you children!" Both Gwen and Arthur cringed at that comment.

"Anyway, the point of this little meeting was for me to tell you of the people's unrest. Right now anyone who simply shoots two well aimed arrows might as well be given the keys to the kingdom. I could not stand in the way of anyone wanting to claim the throne because I am appointed by Uther. The point is, many people want to see the line to the throne more secure. As in they want, you, Arthur, to show at least some interest in the woman you are to soon marry! So at this ball, no more getting drunk or pretending to do so and going off to each other's chambers, when everyone knows you just end up returning to your own. Don't look at me with such shock. The servants gossip."

The steward stared them both down with more animosity than before. "I want you two to show some genuine interest in each other tonight, or put on a _very_ good performance. I need not remind you that betrothal in this kingdom carries the same weight as marriage, so don't go dancing around with every person of the opposite gender. That will be all." The steward straightened his back, and his eyes glittered with arrogence. He turned his back and strode away as if he were the most important man within fifty miles.

"That slack-jawed moron."

Gwenyvere laughed. "I couldn't agree with you more, sire."

"At least we agree on one thing."

* * *

><p>The balls of Camelot were widely known to have the best music, the best decorations, the best food, and, well, the best of everything. When one was invited to a ball in Camelot, one could not refuse. This ball did certainly not live down its expectations. It was the middle of winter, so the dance had fittingly been named the Snow Ball. Camelot's ballroom had been decorated from the ceiling to the floor in white and blue. On the first third of the ballroom as one came in the door were tables. The tablecloths alternated between white and blue every other table, as did the chairs. Each of the centerpeices was a little ice sculpture of a tiny waterfall. The torches were burning on some foreign oil and wood, and the result was blue and white flickering flames, instead of the normal orange and yellow. The entire room was breathtaking.<p>

The last two-thirds of the ballroom was what really caught everyone's attention. The dance floor was made from a highly polished dark wood, but no one slipped as they swayed gracefully to the music, which came from the group of minstrels seated on the side of the room farthest from the door.

As Gwen soaked all of this in, a familiar voice floated from behind her. "I guess we have to do this, so let's just get it over with." Arthur offered his arm. Gwen looped her arm through his, and Arthur led her out onto the dance floor.

They both tried to smile and make conversation because of the open ears and eyes around them, but nothing came up that could have sparked a love interest like the steward had demanded they do.

It was about two and a half hours into the ball, and Gwen and Arthur were sharing yet another dance when a young man tapped Arthur on the shoulder. "May I cut in?" he asked. The mysterious man was certainly not as well dressed as Arthur, but Gwen thought he was just as handsome, perhaps even more so. Gwen could tell that he was as muscular as any knight in Camelot's court.

"Certainly," Arthur replied as anyone would and walked off the dance floor.

Her mysterious rescuer took her by the hand and said, "It looked like you needed a break. You've been dancing with that guy for almost the whole night."

"You mean you don't know who I am? Or who he is?"

"No. I came with King Odin from the North. Between me and you, he's a bit of an ass," the man said with a smile. "Forgive me. My name is Lancelot."

Gwen smiled. "Lancelot, my name is Gwenyvere."

Something happened during that dance that Gwen thought would never happen to her. There was a click. A click so obvious that Gwen was suprised that everyone around her didn't turn toward them as they twirled around the floor to find the source of the noise. A sort of click that only happened to two people who were destined to be together for much longer than a dance. Over Lancelot's muscular shoulder she saw Arthur dancing with a beautiful girl with long, dark, curly hair, and she was wearing a dark green velvet dress that matched her eyes. Gwen thought she saw was that there was a similar click between the Crown Prince Arthur and his lady.

"So Lady Morgan, where do you come from?"

"I was born here in Camelot, but I was kidnapped by gypsies when I was a when I was very young. Several years later, King Pellinore's men saw me trying to escape and rescued me. I have lived as a lady in his court for the last ten years."

"So you really have no idea who I am?"

"No, I don't. Should I?"

"Oh, no. A lady of your beauty has a right to know or not know anyone she likes."

The stewart saw the exchanges between the two couples and was curious. Of course he saw the man Gwenyvere was currently dancing with ask Arthur for the dance, and it would be incredibly rude for Arthur to refuse. He wouldn't blame Arthur for deserting his betrothed, but he wanted to make sure there was nothing signifigant happening between the couples. He saw a lady with strawberry blond hair and the most interesting pair of purple eyes that he knew and strode toward her to ask her to dance. "Lady Morgause, may I have this dance?"

"Certainly," she responded.

The song ended sooner than would have liked for Arthur, Gwen, and their partners, but both of the couples eventually split up. Arthur found himself standing next to Gwen again. "Do you know a Lady Morgan from King Pellinore's court?"

"No I don't. Was that the lady in the green dress who I saw you dancing with?"

"Yes, in a matter of fact it was. Who was the man who danced with you?"

"His name was Lancelot. He said he came with King Odin. You don't know him?"

"No."

There were a few moments of silence, and then Gwenyvere laid the facts out on the table for both of them to see.

"Look, I know that you would prefer Lady Morgan over me. Don't look like that; I saw you two dancing and the way you acted around her. I would also prefer Lancelot over you. So I will make you a deal. Both Lady Morgan and Lancelot will only be here for another week, so I suggest that we make the most of our time. You will see Lady Morgan, and I will see Lancelot for the remainder of the time that they spend here."

Arthur looked a little bit wary at first, but then Gwen said, "Unless you want to spend the next week like any other week; pretending to like me with no one to look forward to seeing."

"But we are betrothed. If anyone were to ever find out, Camelot would be looked upon with shame, and you would probably be exiled from the city."

"At least we wouldn't have to marry."

From the way his eyebrows drew together and the way his eyes focused intently on a portion of a nearby table, Gwen could tell that Arthur was thinking through every possible outcome to see if this risk was worth taking, just like any military leader would. The end of the dance was approaching, and couples were gradually making their way to the door, some even walking out.

Arthur smiled. "You've got yourself a deal, but we still have to keep up appearances."

"How are we going to do that without them finding out? Lance doesn't know that we're betrothed, and I'm assuming that Lady Morgan doesn't know either."

"She doesn't. Let's just say that a distant relative has come in for the ball and wants to see us married, but our parents don't. We are just spending so much time with one another until your Uncle Pelles leaves."

"Uncle Pelles? That's the best you could come up with?"

Arthur was about to come back with a witty retort, but a deep bell resonded througout the castle. This bell signalled the end of the dance, and everyone was saying their last goodbyes as they walked out the door.

A frantic look quickly came over Gwen's face. "Arthur, where's the steward?"

Arthur quickly found him. The steward had a young redhead on one arm who was laughing at something he said. He smiled and led the girl out of the ballroom and toward the Royal Wing, which included chambers for the king, the king's servants, and the steward's own chambers.

Arthur turned to Gwen and said, "I think he's going to be pretty well distracted for a while. We'll probably be free for the rest of the night."

"Great. See you later!" she exclaimed quietly in a way that sounded almost grateful as she walked off to where Lancelot was talking with some knights from Camelot. Arthur was thinking the same thing as he himself walked toward the Lady Morgan, who was looking out of the window at the rain that had just started to fall gently.

The steward led the laughing Lady Morgause into the Royal Wing. "He'll never suspect," she said as she recovered from the steward's comment.

"Well, it can't hurt to be too careful," the steward commented.

"There is such a thing as being paranoid."

The couple came to a tall dark set of wooden double doors, which had two Camelot guards in full armor standing on either side.

"You're a bit late tonight, sire," the guard on the right said as he opened the door on his side.

"Well, you know, the ball and everything," the steward said with an evil looking grin as he led Lady Morgause into the king's chambers. The guard on the left thought that perhaps standing at attention in front of the king's chamber doors for the last eight hours had made him a little bit delusional, but he swore that he heard Lady Morgause laugh _evilly_ as the door to the king's chambers slammed shut to hide whatever the two of them were doing every full moon in the king's chambers for the last ten years.


	3. Rain and Roses

"About what are you thinking?"

Lady Morgan continued to stare out of the window. "Where does rain come from?"

"The clouds in the sky."

She turned to face Arthur. "Where then, do the clouds in the sky get the rain?"

"I had no idea that you were a philosophist, my Lady."

"Not a philosophist," she responded. "Just a person who is interested in knowing the real reasons as to why the world works the way it does."

"I have an idea about answering your question," Arthur said as he offered his arm his arm to her.

She looped her arm through his and asked, "What is your idea?"

"My hypothesis," Arthur said as he lead Morgan out of the ballroom, "Is that if we get closer to the sky, then we can know more about rain and where it comes from. What say you?"

"With all due respect Your Highness—"

"There is no need for such formality with me. Just Arthur will do."

"Well then, Arthur, I really don't think that that hypothesis will hold up very well if it were tested. Even the tallest tower in all of England does not reach to the height of the clouds."

By this point they had reached the entrance of the West Tower, which was the tallest tower in the palace. "I say that we test my hypothesis, because I have a sneaking suspicion that I may be right on this particular night."

"I really don't think—"

"I insist," he said as he opened the old brown wooden door that separated the door from the stairs leading to the top of the tower.

* * *

><p>"Where are we going?" Gwenyvere asked after a few minutes of walking through the palace on Lancelot's arm.<p>

"I actually have no idea. I was planning on going to the stables for some horses. You sound like the type of lady who would love nothing more than to ride a pretty horse through the rain with a handsome man such as myself," he said, his lips curling up with his own humor.

"If you had been listening the entire time when we were talking," Gwenyvere responded with a smile, "then you would also know that I do not enjoy men who think too much of themselves. Plus, if one such as yourself were looking for the stables, said person would be traveling to the north wing. The closest stables are there."

"What would I do without a beautiful woman such as yourself to guide me through such a strange palace?"

"I'm sure you would have fallen into a moat and been eaten by some fearsome beast."

Morgan and Arthur stood, hands on their knees, and they were both panting heavily. "Arthur, I have no idea how you manage to bring out such unbecoming behavior in a lady. I mean, really? Racing up the stairs? I thought races were strictly for children."

This particular tower that Arthur had led Morgan up was the West Tower of Camelot, which famous at the time for being the tallest tower in all of England. The top of the tower was made of the same boring grey brick that the rest of the tower was. The roof was a small dome, and there were little pillars holding it above the floor. The pillars left little glassless windows through which one could stick out his head and peer down at the bustling town or up at the winking stars at night.

"I believe that there is a little bit of a child inside all of us."

"And you sure do know how to bring out that little bit of adolescence," Morgan said, still trying to recover from their frantic flight up the stairs. "So now that you have me up here, would you like to test your theory about clouds?"

Arthur had walked over to the edge of the tower while she was speaking and looked like he was straining to see something far above him. He suddenly jumped upright and said, "I'm afraid that there are no clouds out at the moment, My Lady, so neither of us can be proved right _or _wrong."

"Arthur, if I am to be on a first name basis with you, than you shall do the same for me. Call me Morgan."

"Well, Morgan, now that we are up here, what do you suggest that we do?"

"As the host in this situation, I believe that it is your job, not mine, to think of something for entertainment."

Arthur smiled and then said, "I have an idea. If you would wait here," he said as he backed up to the door, "I shall be back in a few moments."

* * *

><p>"Wait!" Gwenyvere hissed as she snatched Lancelot by the shoulder to prevent him from going around the corner and into the front entrance of the stables.<p>

"Why should we wait?" he whispered back. "And why are we whispering?"

"I can't be seen with you!"

"What?"

"Uh... what I meant was...I can't be here at this time of night!" she whispered back quickly. "Wouldn't it look suspicious if a lady of high standing in the courts of Camelot fled off into the night on horseback with a strange man who is just staying for the week?"

"Oh yes, that woud be problematic. For the record, my intentions are nothing if not honorable."

"I wouldn't doubt that. So meet me with the horses outside of the stables?"

"How will you get there?"

"I have my ways," Gwenyvere said with a sly grin.

* * *

><p>Morgan stared out across the city at night. Torches glimmered defiantly against the night along the castle walls and throughout the town. By firelight, you could just barely make out the shapes of houses, big and small, ramshackle and brand-new, through the dark cape of night. Further out, you could see cows, horses, and other livestock resting peacefully in the fields. A light breeze occasionally ruffled the tall stalks of grain next to the tiny houses where Morgan could barely make out the shape of a farmhouse, although she could only sometimes see them because they were so far out from the rest of the city. She looked up, and an almost full moon loomed above her, along with an innumerable number of stars surrounding it, nestled in the deep velvety blue that was the night sky. Although the nearby sky was cloudless like Arthur had said previously, she could see a angry grey storm cloud fast approaching. Morgan heard the door open behind her, and she turned to face her guest.<p>

"Arthur!" she exclaimed. "You seemed to take a very long time."  
>"I had to make sure I had the most beautiful ones (here he pulled out a bouquet of red roses) for the most beautiful girl I've seen."<p>

Morgan took the flowers from him, and there was a smile so big across her face that if you were to look at it, it would be hard to believe that anything could make it disappear. She inhaled deeply, and then said, "They are beautiful."

"No flower could match your beauty."

Morgan, having never been wooed so strongly before, cast her gaze downward as her cheeks turned crimson. Thinking desperately of a way to diffuse the attention off of her, she eventually said, "Have you ever seen the city at night from up here? It is a rather impressive sight."

"Shall we take a look then?" Arthur offered his arm, and Morgan took it. Even though the walk was only a few steps, she still appreciated the gentlemanliness of the gesture.

After a few moments of gazing out across the horizon, Arthur turned to Morgan and said, "I have a request to make of you, My Lady Morgan."

"I told you, call me Morgan," she said, still looking out across the city.

Arthur ignored this and said, "May I kiss you?"

Morgan turned and looked him in the eyes for a moment without changing her facial expression, just long enough to scare him a little bit. She couldn't help herself any longer; she broke out once more into the same beaming smile she was wearing when he gave her the roses. Her face matched exactly what she was feeling on the inside. "I'm surprised that you didn't ask sooner."

They didn't even care that it had begun to rain.

* * *

><p>Gwenyvere had managed to slip around the guards unnoticed. There were servants' entrances behind many of the paintings and curtains; the king who originally built the palace despised the mere sight of his servants and always wanted them kept out of the way. So if one knew how to navigate them, the servants' passageways were quite convenient for sneaking around in the middle of the night, especially since almost no servants were still awake and working at this time of night. Fortunately, she didn't come into contact with anyone as she navigated her way to behind the stables.<p>

Gwenyvere thought that the expression on Lancelot's face was absolutely priceless as she emerged from a door on the face of a seemingly solid brick wall.

She took the reins of the nearest horse from Lancelot and said, "Ready?" She had planned to mount the horse, a white stallion by the name of White Fire, and race him off into the woods, but then the reality of the situation finally caught up with her. She was still wearing a dress and shoes that weren't suitable for the task at hand.

Lancelot seemed to have recognized the situation before she had, because he handed a beat up brown sack to her. "Men's clothes," he said when he saw the question forming on her lips. "I wasn't really sure if you were going to hug me or slap me across the face for suggesting wearing men's clothing, but I figure racing through the forest on horseback would be easier without wearing a dress."

_How had he had the exact same thought about horse racing that I had? _Gwenyvere thought.

"Very well," she said aloud. "I will go behind that copse of trees there, and you had better keep your back turned."

"As I said previously, my intentions are nothing but honorable."

"So turn around!" she said she said playfully.

As he turned, he said, "Just shout when you are done."

Gwenyvere left the despised dress and shoes under a thick bush, so no one would find them in broad daylight, and she could come back and pick them up later. Instead of shouting like Lancelot told her to, she snuck up behind him and was about to tap him on the shoulder when he turned around and made a noise like a dragon being disturbed from its slumber. Gwenyvere let out a silent scream (they were still quite close to the stables), while Lancelot burst out into stifled laughter.

"That was not funny!" Gwenyvere tried to exclaim in the most serious way possible. "What if I had still been changing?"

"I have been in many battles, and I have lived to tell the tale. I knew that you were trying to sneak up on me."

"Let's just get on the horses and go," Gwenyvere said, exasperated. They both mounted, and with Lancelot trying to contain his laughter, they raced off into the dark trees.

Out of all of her years of life, Gwenyvere was always confined to something. Be it the work at her father's farmhouse when she was little, or the palace walls in later years, she always felt like she had someone hovering over her, waiting demandingly to be pleased. She hadn't even noticed that this feeling of confinement was such a heavy burden on her until she was racing Lancelot through the woods in the dead of night. She felt as free as the owl she saw swooping above the tree line.

The almost full moon cast just enough light for the horses to see by, and it gave the trees and enchanted glow. After a few minutes of flying through the forest, the couple finally came to a halt in a grassy clearing. There was a small stream off to their right, and because of the moonlight everything had a bluish tint.

They both dismounted and dropped their reins, leaving their horses to graze by the edge of the clearing. When Gwenyvere finally got a good look at Lancelot's face, (it was rather difficult to distinguish facial expressions in the dead of night racing on horseback) he was wearing a smile that matched hers.

"I think I clearly won that race," Gwenyvere said, almost in a challenging manner.

"_I_ think that it was clearly a tie, seeing as we both arrived at exactly the same moment."

"Perhaps next time we do this we shall need to have someone waiting at the finish line to see exactly who won."

"So there will be a next time?"

"Perhaps," she said with a flirtatious smile as she walked further into the clearing.

Lancelot followed her and said, "You know, every other woman I have met seems to be uptight and needy."

"Then what would you call me?"

"Independent," he started. "Funny, adventurous, intelligent." He paused for a minute to whirl her around so their faces were mere inches apart. "Beautiful," he whispered.

The last thing she remembered before his lips met hers was that it had started to rain.

* * *

><p><strong>I would like to clear up something that has come to my attention. <em>Neither<em> of the couples had sex in this chapter. They were just kissing in the rain. If/When they _do_ have sex, that will be made clear. I am sorry for any misunderstanding that this might have caused. Don't forget to review! =)**


	4. Merlin

"Morgause, are you sure that it will work this time?" the steward asked. They been doing this for the past ten years, but the steward always asked the same question every night.

"Why do you continue to question my abilities after all of these years?" Morgause shot back with a little bit of venom. The Snow Ball had only just ended, and the steward Morgause were once again in King Uther's chambers.

"If we were to get caught—"

"Yes, I know, burned at the stake for illegal witchcraft and sorcery, blah, blah, blah. I know the consequences as well as you do. You worry too much." After she said this, she began to walk toward a man who was sitting in an elegant chair on the far side of the room who looked impossibly old. His hair was white as snow, and his excessively sagging skin was sprinkled with age spots. A thin gold circlet rested on his brow. His milky white eyes gazed unseeingly at the grey brick Wall across the room from him.

"Your Majesty!" Wolfe hailed loudly, for the Uther was almost deaf.

"Have you brought Igraine?" Uther responded in a voice that sounded like it belonged to a much older man, seeing as he was only forty-five.

"Of course, Your Majesty! Do you remember the rules clearly, Your Majesty?" Wolfe shouted back.

"Yes, of course," Uther wheezed. "Can't touch, only listen."

"Very good, your majesty!" the steward declared. He then looked pointedly at Morgause, who began to read from a thick tome that looked like it lived permanently on the table near where Uther was sitting. The steward never knew what she was saying, but the ancient words had a particular rythm to them that was rather comforting. Ancient Celtic was the language of magic, and that language had all but died out amoung the people of Camelot. Because magic was illegal with the penalty of death, no one wanted to be caught teaching it either.

After a few moments of chanting, the hazy figure of a woman began to appear. She was tall and slender framed with long blond hair. She had blue eyes that sparkled like a deep pool in the middle of a forest. But even though she was beautiful, her figure never grew beyond the clarity of a ghost. Uther's eyes widened when she appeared. Even though he was completely blind, it was as if he could sense her presense.

"Igraine," Uther said in a longing fashion.

When Igraine smiled, Uther smiled back.

Uther and his dead wife continued to converse in their one-sided fashion; he always spoke about everything to her, and she just smiled back. Meanwhile, Wolfe and Morgause were having their own conversation, knowing that Uther was too enthralled with his dead wife's ghost to notice anything else. The castle could be under seige and he wouldn't notice.

"It's been ten years since we started this. How long will it take for it to kill him?" Wolfe asked impatiently.

"Soon," Morgause responded, and then she continued to study the actions of the spirit she had conjured.

"You always say that!" he hissed back. "Every time it's, 'soon.' Can you give me a straight answer for once?"

"Quiet!" she snapped. "If I loose enough consentration, that spirit could get loose and tear this entire castle down to its foundations!" Wolfe was silent.

"Two nights from now," she answered.

"Really?" Wolfe asked in utter shock. He hadn't expected her answer to be _so _soon.

"Tomorrow night will be the last night that I summon Igraine for him. He will then go searching the castle for her, and _you_," she added, pointing a finger, which was tipped in a perfectly manicured nail, at his chest, "will be conveniently missing. I will take care of the guards. Eventually, he will start to hallucinate that his dearly beloved is in a well, or over the side of a castle tower, and he will commit suicide. With his poor mental health being common knowledge, no one will suspect a thing."

"I still don't understand why we couldn't have done this months, or even years earlier," Wolfe stated, still not convinced.

"Because," Morgause said in a firm voice. She crossed the room to stand next to the spirit. "Magic of the heart is more difficult," she said, and then waved her hand in front of her, which caused the ghostly image of Igraine to disappear. Uther's face of elation left him, and he was once again the sad old man sitting in the chair. "Than magic of the physical world," she finished. As she said this, it started to rain.

* * *

><p>Merlin was the son of a single mother in a small village on the outskirts of Camelot. Although some would argue that it was not Camelot at all, it was actually Greenspirit. This one little strip of land and the one villiage that sat upon it was a grey area between the two kingdoms. It had been swapped back and forth between Camelot and Greenspirit in peace treaties so many times now that no one really remembered who it belonged to anymore. Occasionally there was a small skirmish over it, but still, no one actually knew to which country Ealdor belonged to anymore. Ealdor itself just wanted to be left alone and not be under the juristiction of either of the countries.<p>

Ealdor was not just any village. Ealdor was a village that thrived on magic.

The healer's name was Hunith, and she did everything from bandaging up cuts to telling the farmers when the next rain would be. She predicted when raiding parties would come, so the village hid their wealth. She knew when a person was about to die. She knew when a mother was going to give birth. Hunith had the ability of foresight. She also happened to be Merlin's mother.

Merlin was also gifted in the magical arts, although his mother didn't know what to make of him. A sorceror could only do one kind of magic, be it healing, divination, transfiguration, animation, or one of the other branches of magic. As to which aptitude a person possessed, it usually presented itself at around the age of ten, but Merlin, now sixteen years old, still had not presented a particularly strong control over any one branch of magic. He healed some bruises before, so his mother thought he was a healer, but then that very night he had a dream that a huge storm of hail and sleet and snow would come, and it did. Once, Hunith stepped on a cricket, but Merlin simply looked at it, and it healed itself and hopped right away again. In a phrase, Hunith simply did not know what to do with Merlin. She taught him all she knew about various branches of magic, but she still felt that it wasn't enough.

Somewhere in her heart, she knew that Merlin was destined for greatness.

If she only knew how right she was.

* * *

><p>Soon after Wolfe and Morgause left the King's chambers, Morgause stopped suddenly in the middle of the hallway and clutched her chest.<p>

"What is it? What's the matter?" asked Wolfe frantically, thinking that the spirit of Igraine had somehow escaped and was coming back to take revenge on him.

"I feel..."

"Yes, yes? What do you feel?"

She stood up and looked Wolfe in the face with an expression that read, "I'm really mad right now. Don't tick me off more."

"First of all, I need you to shut-up." Wolfe went silent. "I feel... a power. A strong power. Almost equal to mine."

"What does this mean?" Wolfe asked in a timid voice, wary of an outburst.

"It means that I must go," Morgause said in a steely voice.

"What?" Wolfe asked breathlessly. "Why?"

Morgause continued to walk down the torch-lit corridor with Wolfe trailing behind her. "There is someone who has strong magical powers. This person is just learning how to control his gift. I must stop him before him learn much more."

"But what about—" Wolfe stopped suddenly as they passed a group of guards. "What about the King?" he continued in a hushed whisper. "I thought you said that you were going to summon Igraine one last time?"

"We will have to make do with what we have. If there is a witch or sorceror out there strong enough to the point where I can _feel _it, something is deeply wrong. I must go and eliminate him or her as quickly as possible."

Wolfe was so caught up in the spontinaity of the moment that he hadn't even realized where they were going, but he soon realized that they were at the stables on the north side.

"Bring me White Fire!" she barked impatiently at one of the stable attendants. "NOW!"

"My Lady Morgause, White Fire is out right now..."

"What do you mean he's out right now? It's the middle of the night! For the sake of Camelot, just get me a horse that can run!"

"Y-yes, M-my Lady," the attendant stuttered as he ran off hurriedly to satisfy her request.

Morgause turned back to Wolfe. "If I'm not back in three days time and the king still has not killed himself, I would suggest you get out of Camelot. His memory will return to him, and he will most definitely have you hung."

The attendant returned with a black mare. "Will Midnight do, My Lady?"

"Yes, she'll be fine!" Morgause snapped as she snatched the reins away from him. She fluidy mounted the horse in one swift motion, and within a few moments, she was gone, leaving Wolfe and the attendant in her wake.

"Do you know..."

"Don't ask, kid," Wolfe responded as he turned around and made his way back to the castle.


End file.
